


Socially Antisocial

by CaptainKenway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Internship (2013)
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Stiles Stilinski is Stuart Twombly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKenway/pseuds/CaptainKenway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sti-uart Stilinski gets the chance of a lifetime to try for a spot at Google, how will the pack get along without their resident human for the summer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles was incredibly grateful that the competition for the Google internship was not 24/7. He would probably shoot himself if he had to deal with his team—team used loosely, of course—on a daily basis. If the first task was any indication, he was not getting a job. It sucked, but he knew that the internship at Google was a long shot anyway.

His goals now consisted of learning as much as he could from Googlers and their seminars. Hopefully, he could find a Googler who would write him a letter of recommendation. Lyle might be willing to write a letter, but he doubted it would reflect well on him. His participation and general attitude since arriving at Google had been subpar at best. Stiles went in deciding that he would not be friends with all his potential competition. Unfortunately, his team annoyed the hell out of him. Awkward leader, abused Asian (or "severely disciplined"), horny nerd, and the two old guys who knew nothing about Google and less about technology. He was still trying to figure out how they squeezed in.

Stiles grimaced as he glanced outside again. He would feel absurd for missing the pack this much, but if their constant stream of texts were any indication, the feelings were hardly one-sided. Of course, his dad struggled with texting even simple messages. A quick glance told Stiles that no one was in his team’s cubicle area—no one that cared, at least.

The phone rang twice before Stiles heard his father pick up the phone. A fond smile overtook his face when he heard his father promptly drop said phone almost immediately.

_“Stiles!”_

“Hey, Dad.”

_“How’s Google?”_

“Same old, same old.”

_“Don’t give me that. Ramble like I know you want to.”_

Stiles let out a small laugh. “You realize I’m going to constantly remind you that you told me that, right? Google is…so, so different than I expected. It’s awesome. I already told you about the free food, which Scott would devour, and this whole place is like a kid’s museum for adults. _Plus_ it conveniently comes, to no one’s surprise, with the latest technology. Don’t worry. I’ve been going to their educational seminars. I’m going to try to try to find someone to write me a letter of recommendation—”

_“What about the Googler in charge of you Nooglers? Liam?”_

“Dad, Nooglers is the worst word. I told you how I felt about it.”

_“I must have forgotten.”_

“I’m sure.”

_“Stiles—”_

“Plus you never interrupt a rant. How are you supposed to get information from me?”

 _“Why won’t Liam work?”_ Of course his dad had to be a cop about it and not be distracted by pleasant conversation.

“Um…” Stiles scratched his head awkwardly. How did his dad’s disapproving stare travel through cell phones? Unfairness. Well, he was a grown man-ish. He could tell his dad the truth. How to phrase this nicely… “I haven’t been…a positive group member?”

_“Stiles.”_

Shit. His dad’s disapproving stare grew stronger. He was using his exasperated cop voice that Scott insisted he reserved exclusively for Stiles. “We’ve only done one activity. And the two old guys in my group are useless! The other two are fine but one is mentally scarred and the other is mentally scarring us!”

_“Stiles…”_

“Don’t say it! I did what I could! I helped distract the two older guys while the rest of us actually attempted to find a way to break the code.”

_“Stiles, I raised you better.”_

Stiles shrank down in his seat.

_“Google is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’m not letting you throw it down the drain! The fact you made it into their summer program proves you’re meant for bigger and better things than Beacon Hills. But you choose to squander this opportunity because you don’t like your group? Stiles, you are the most talkative person I know. Surely you can find some common ground. You’re already friends with werewolves, banshees, and whatever the hell else so it’s not like you’re not an accepting person.”_

“Dad—”

 _“You’re going to get off your high horse and apologize to anyone you offended. And_ don’t _defend yourself.”_ Stiles snapped his mouth shut. _“Your quips get out of hand sometimes. Also, these two ‘old guys’ made it into the same exclusive program you did. So they obviously have some skill to bring to the table. You want to learn? Those men have more life experience than you have years of being alive. Even if you don’t get the Google internship, I want to know you tried your hardest. Don’t blame your team. You are a big factor in your success or failure.”_

Stiles swung back in forth in his chair, pulling the beanie over his eyes.

_“Son?”_

“…You’re right,” Stiles mumbled. “I just came in not wanting to ally with the enemy and then I was sorted into the 'leftover' group. I was pissed then the first challenge only made it worse. My group can’t function.”

_“It only takes a leader.”_

“Lyle is new at this. Not really an inspiring leader.”

_“You know that’s not what I meant.”_

“I doubt they’ll listen to me, but I guess I can try.”

_“Such spirit.”_

Stiles grumbled.

_“…So how did the older men handle the code bit thing?”_

Stiles snickered, mostly relieved that his dad was attempting to change to more light-hearted conversation. “Well, they might be equipped with your technology skillset.”

_“Hey!”_

“They treated it like a riddle. We finally distracted them by telling them to find the professor who made the code: Professor Charles Xavier.”

 _“Stiles…”_ his dad tried to admonish. It was too late. Stiles already heard him choke back laughter.

“We were actually making progress on the code, but British Jackson’s team beat us.”

_“So you were working as a unit?”_

“I see what you’re doing. So sure, Dad.”

_“Good.”_

Stiles snorted.

_“And how’s the whole going by Stuart thing?”_

“Why is it so hard to respond to?” Stiles groaned. “I accidentally ignore so many people who read my name tag.”

_“Well, you didn’t have to go by that.”_

“Kinda had to, Dad. Stiles Stilinski doesn’t sound like a real name and there’s _no way_ I’m registering with my first name—no offense—so middle name is all that’s left.”

_“Alright, Stuart.”_

“Ugh. No. Stop! It’s like I’m not your child anymore.”

_“I promise I don’t love Stuart more than you, Stiles.”_

“I’m displeased with you.”

_“Where do you think you got your wit from?”_

“I already know Mom. Stop trying to steal her legacy.”

_“That reminds me, your mom’s sister is visiting this weekend.”_

“That’s great," Stiles said. "Wait, which one? You don’t sound happy. Is it Betsy?”

_“Cathy.”_

 “Dad, we like Aunt Cathy, remember?”

_“No, it’s great to see her again. It’s been awhile since the last time we met.”_

“What’s the problem? She likes football. You can still watch your team lose this weekend.”

_“…She’s going to be watching me.”_

“I’m sure she’ll give you privacy if you ask nicely.”

 _“Stiles,”_ the sheriff reprimanded. _“She always nitpicks what I eat.”_

“…You poor baby.”

_“It’s unnecessary!”_

“Are you _whining_?” Stiles asked with glee, sitting up and yanking his beanie off his head. Amused eyes greeted him. Stiles flushed and gave a small nod to Lyle. He waved back. “Eating healthy is good for you.”

_“I do eat healthy.”_

“Mhmm.” Stiles continued to spin back and forth in his chair, debating on whether he should make an awkward escape. He eyed Lyle. His Google team leader appeared to be finishing a project or report on the computer, but, most importantly, did not look overly interested in what he was saying. Staying it is. “We both know you only eat healthy because I make you.”

_“I’ve been eating healthy when you were at Stanford and over the summer.”_

“We both know I have _plenty_ of resources to help me keep you from an early grave.”

_“Scott is only here during the summer.”_

“Not too shabby, Dad. Nice to know your detective skills aren’t going to waste. Clearly, Scott is only a reinforcement during the summer when we found out I wouldn’t be there.”

_“Then who—”_

“Do I really need to mention the trump card that is the wonderful Melissa McCall?”

_“…”_

“You didn’t know? Score one for Mama McCall.”

_“She always wanted to meet for lunch a few times a week…”_

“Add two more for consistency.”

_“She always chose the place and talked about a certain food item…”_

“It was always one of their healthy items that you actually deem ‘real food,’ wasn’t it?”

_“Huh.”_

“Should I tell Scott his mom needs to chang careers?”

_“I’m glad you’re pleased with yourself, Stuart.”_

“What was that? I couldn’t hear over my laughter.”

_“You’re lucky I love you because sometimes I want to kill you.”_

“Aww, stop it.”

_“And I know how to cover my tracks.”_

“I feel vaguely threatened.”

_“Typical that that hardly fazes you. Listen, Stiles, I have to go. Duty calls. Love you. Remember what I said.”_

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

_“Oh! And your contacts finally came in! So I can mail them to you or you can wait to get them at the end of the summer…?”_

“I can wait till the end of the summer,” Stiles reassured, knowing his dad’s deep and misguided distrust in the postal service. “Bye!”

Lyle sneaked a glance at Stiles when he put down his phone. Stiles refrained from texting victory of Mama McCall’s sleuth-iness to Scott.

“Just talking to my dad,” Stiles told Lyle, turning to face him in his chair. Open body language and all that.

Lyle turned to Stiles in interest. He felt a pang of guilt that this was probably his friendliest interaction with his team leader. “You both seem really close.”

“It happens.” Way to be snippy, Stiles. Maybe he should name his anti-social, and apparently “cool” alter ego, Stuart, his douche side. He forced himself to share more information. “He was the only one raising me and I was an only child so…”

Lyle’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, gotcha. Lyles grew—er I grew up with three older sisters.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“It was,” Lyle said with an answering smirk. “But it got me major game with the ladies.”

“Definitely paid off,” Stiles deadpanned. Was Lyle joking? Oh, yep. Doesn’t look offended and is laughing too. Not being a genuine dick is so much better. He had no idea how Jackson and British Jackson managed it. Speaking of not being a dick… “So, I just wanted to apologize.”

Lyle raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“I’ve been a douche lately and haven’t really been helping the team like I could…”

“It’s coolio, man,” Lyle said. “Lyle is very forgiving.”

Stiles studied him for a second before hesitantly smiling. “Are you accepting my apology by being a little shit?”

“Would Lyle do that?”

“Sti-uart thinks Lyle is definitely a little shit. If Lyle keeps going, maybe he’ll eventually be a moderate shit.”

“Lyle thinks that’s extreme, but, on a slightly more serious note, actions speak louder than words so do you think you can help us out at Quidditch?”

“Quidditch?”

“It’s the next event.”

“Ugh. Never played Quidditch and I don’t see what it has to do with Google so…maybe? I’ll definitely help with the computer and technology events.”

“Ha ha, Lyle can deal with that.”


	2. Chapter 2

So Quidditch went about as well as expected. Meaning they lost. On a surprising note, they came close to winning during the second half, but British Jackson had to be Jackson-y about it. Of course, even Jackson refused to cheat at lacrosse. Much anyway.

His group sat in content silence outside by the T-rex, eating Frosties. Stiles tapped on his phone, trying to convince Scott that Google played special Quidditch with actual flying brooms. So far, he was successful.

“Bilinski!” An eerily familiar shout cut through his group’s idle conversation. Stiles paused. No. No fucking way.

Billy stopped mid-80s reference to look up at someone Stiles absolutely never expected to see at Google. “Hey, my man, can I help you?”

Coach Finstock came to a halt by their table and studied Billy briefly. “You’re either a perfect pick for a goalie because you’re tall and cover most the goal or because you’re clumsy and would trip if you did actual running.”

“Coach?” Stiles interrupted, not wanting Coach to eventually insult people that would actually be offended. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Bilinski, I met with my cousin who works here and he doubted my lacrosse skills and my ability to rouse the troops with the song of independence. So he challenged me to a mini lacrosse game. I choose one group of Googling-wanna-bes, like you, versus his colleagues.”

“Did you know I was here?”

“Course! I wouldn’t take a bet like that without any insurance. The sheriff practically made a public announcement when you were accepted here. What’s with your stupid glasses? Oh god, you’re not turning into one of those hippie drug people who don’t like anything, are you?”

Stiles flushed, ignoring Neha’s snicker. “I lost my contacts and couldn’t get them replaced in time. Hence the glasses.”

“Hmph. It won’t affect your playing. Right? Good.”

“Actually, I don’t think my group wants to play lacrosse…”

“Bilinski, you play at Stanford—”

“Not on their legit team!”

“You can cover your group’s slack.”

“Well…”

“Sounds like it would be fun,” Nick said. Stiles shot him a glare. “I never played lacrosse before. You guys coming?”

“Oh, definitely,” Neha said. Yo-Yo, Billy, and Lyle followed with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Pretty much everyone was happy besides him and Yo-Yo. But even Yo-Yo stared at Coach and Stiles in interest.

“Fantastic!” Coach said.

“So you were Stuart’s lacrosse coach?” Billy prompted. A normal person with average deduction skills would continue down the designated conversation path. Emphasis on normal.

“Stuart? Who the hell is Stuart?”

“It’s my middle name, Coach.”

“Oh! Much better than your first name. I can pronounce it for one.”

“What is it?” Neha asked eagerly. Stiles honestly couldn’t tell if she was attempting to establish a cute, annoying younger sister relationship or snarky, potential girlfriend relationship with him. Either way she really needed to stop talking.

“Hell if I know. So many syllables. Why were you named that, Bilinski?”

“Family name. It was my mom’s idea.”

“Hmph," Coach grunted. "Course it was. Way to bring down the mood.”

“But yeah, he was my lacrosse coach in high school and my economics teacher,” Stiles said. He forgot how much of a filter Coach didn’t have.

“Speaking of which,” Coach said, “your dad gave me a ticket the other day.”

“I’m sure the state appreciates your required donation.”

Coach continued giving him an expectant look.

“What? You think I can talk him out of giving you a ticket you already have?” Stiles asked. “He’s ruthless! He gave me a ticket before.”

Coach snorted. “You probably deserved it. Taught you a lesson.”

“And you were completely innocent when Dad gave you the ticket.”

“I’m not a criminal, Bilinski.”

“Me neither!”

“Right,” the coach deadpanned, “and who kidnapped a student—”

“As a joke!”

“And got a restraining order—”

“Jackson couldn’t take said joke. Besides it only lasted for about a month.”

“And hangs out with murderers—”

“ _Ex-_ murder suspects.”

“And _completely_ destroyed a library during detention—“

“I wasn’t the only one in there!”

“And pulled a fire alarm—”

“It was Halloween!”

“ _With_ a serial killer loose in the building.”

“Where the fuck did you go to school?” Neha asked. Shit. He forgot they were there, stupidly enough. Shock was the prominent emotion. Billy and Lyle looked vaguely impressed.

“ _And_ ,” Coach Finstock continued, his shouting transforming into a hiss, “threw my _whistle_ out the _window_ of a moving _bus_?”

“Um…the whistle was bad luck?” Stiles protested weakly.

“Sure, Bilinski. I got my eyes on you. Now, wait here while I get the lacrosse equipment.”

Stiles slowly turned to his group. “So Coach is just a _tad_ eccentric.”

“A eccentric person wouldn't—” Yo-Yo began.

“Was all of that true?” Neha interrupted. 

Stiles awkwardly ran a hand through his hair, taking in his group’s eager, curious stares. “Well, a bit, but Coach made it sound worse than it was.”

“What part of that was over exaggerated?” Neha interrogated.

“Um…” Stiles reflected. “The serial killer was never officially found at my school?”

“This is why mom did not want me in the public school system,” Yo-Yo said.

“Not all schools are like that, I promise,” Nick said. “Where did you go to school?”

“Beacon Hills.”

“That’s like the Bermuda Triangle of homicides and animal attacks,” Neha breathed. Shit. She was one of _those_. Conspiracy theorists flocked to Beacon Hills. Their lack of tact was almost astonishing. “What was it like going to school there? Wait! You were there when the Tree Hugging Garroter serial killer was there! Was he the one never caught in your school?”

“Neha,” Nick coughed, shaking his head slightly. Neha ignored him.

“No, that serial killer stopped killing months before,” Stiles said, trying to depersonalize himself from the events. “Never found said serial killer.”

“How many serial killers did Beacon Hills have?” Billy asked.

“Tons,” Neha answered. “And animal attacks. Wolf fur was identified on most of the victims, oddly enough.”

“Why is that odd?” Nick asked.

“Wolves don't live in California,” Lyle said.

“Huh, I guess you had an interesting high school career, so do you like lacr—” Nick said. Stiles was incredibly grateful for the topic change. Until he saw Neha open her mouth.

“So your dad was…is sheriff? That must’ve been hell,” Neha continued. She was like a dog with a bone. Distantly, Stiles understood her desire for answers from a primary source, but she needed to stop prodding. Now. “Hasn’t the sheriff’s station been attacked before? Like by some things with swords? That’s the theory on the internet. Of course, all the officials are covering it up. They’re just pretending none of the deaths even happened because no one of importance died,” she informed the group.

Stiles’ expression turned murderous. “No one of _importance_?” Neha’s eyes bulged as if she just realized her rambling actually affected him. “Your trusty internet tell you that? Good thing you passed the message! I mourned for those people, but how embarrassing to know that they weren’t important. Hope none of the damn amateur documentaries caught my emotions on camera for the whole world to see. I would probably never live down the shame!”

“Stuart, I—“ Neha began, apology on her lips.

“And it was such _fun_ to be the sheriff’s kid. When he got kidnapped I, of course, threw a party! No parents are the chance of a _fucking_ lifetime.”

“Stu—“

“Don’t talk about shit that happened like it was some fucking fanfiction you read on the internet.”

“I’m sorry that—“

“Is there a problem?” Coach Finstock asked. Stiles glanced behind him and flushed at the small crowd. Why couldn’t Neha leave well enough alone? He hated causing scenes.

“Nope,” Stiles said shortly. “Ready to start?”

Coach grabbed Stiles’ stiff shoulder and led him a few feet away. “You don’t have to play, Stilinski. It’s just a game.”

Stiles gave Coach a forced smile. “Just pissed. I’ll feel better after I body slam some of these guys and score. Can they play?”

“They play for recreation,” Coach Finstock said after studying Stiles for a moment. “The biggest threat is the unloved ginger.”

“I can handle him easily,” Stiles said dismissively.

“And you acted like you weren’t good at lacrosse,” Coach said. “I would’ve kicked myself in the Cindy Lou Whos if I knew you were going to be my biggest hope at winning a game.”

“Did that sophomore year, Coach,” Stiles said. “Might want to go over the lacrosse basics with them.”

Coach patted Stiles on the arm once before turning abruptly to his group. “Alright, you pansy-assed cabbages!”

 

* * *

 

“You were amazing!” Billy said. “Where was that athleticism during Quidditch?”

“I had more motivation this game,” Stiles said. Neha flushed and turned away. He never said he wasn’t petty.

“You did decent, Bilinski,” Coach said. “Shame you didn’t come into your talent in high school. Our first line lacrosse players kept dropping like flies.”

“Were you a bench warmer?” Lyle asked, tossing Stiles a water bottle.

“First year and a half.”

“Would’ve been less if you actually made it to the earlier games, Bilinski,” Coach admonished. “You had nothing more important going on. You were just a tiny sophomore.”

“Eh, I liked the drama of my first game,” Stiles said.

"What happened?” Nick asked.

“Bilinski scored the championship winning point and the lacrosse captain nearly died.”

“Not what I was referring to, just for clarification,” Stiles said.

"Someone almost died?” Billy asked.

“He was stabbed in the stomach and stopped breathing, but Jackson made a recovery at the hospital,” Coach Finstock said shortly, seemingly oblivious to the group's bulging eyes. “What drama _were_ you referring to, Bilinski? You missing after the game?”

“You went missing?” Lyle asked.

“Well, not _missing_ missing,” Stiles explained hurriedly. “Just some lacrosse players on the other team decided to…have a discussion.”

“You were beat up by sore losers. Don’t pussy foot around it,” Coach rebuked. “And you went _missing_ missing your junior year.”

“You went _missing_?” Lyle asked again.

“Twice,” Coach inputted helpfully.

“ _Twice_ ,” Nick and Billy repeated with surprising synchronization. Stiles winced. He didn't even know Nick and Billy that well. Hell, he wasn't even nice to them. Why did they both look worriedly protective and ready to track down past Stiles?

“Once it’s because I was sleep walking—“

“And calling your friends and generally causing havoc in Beacon Hills,” Coach said.

Stiles gave Coach a look. Coach remained nonplussed. “People do weird things while sleeping.”

“And the other?” Lyle asked.

The other. As in when the Nogitsune took over after the MRI scan. Not really the appropriate sane response. He darkened his expression, which was not a hard accomplishment.  "I really don’t like talking about it.”

“Damn, son,” Lyle said. “You went through a lot.”

“I do remember coming back and seeing Coach get shot with an arrow,” Stiles said, kindly giving Coach the spotlight.

“An arrow?” Billy exclaimed.

"From a crossbow," Stiles added.

Billy blinked. “Beacon Hills is certainly…”

“Different,” Nick supplied.

“It’s surprising you even had time for lacrosse,” Billy said.

“We did pretty well actually,” Stiles said, “which is a surprise considering.”

“Surprising?" Coach said. "Who taught you lacrosse? I trained everyone to perfection! I molded you specifically since you were a wee freshman and in serious threat of being more useless than my grandma’s dead corpse.”

“You were the best coach,” Stiles said, only slightly sarcastic.

“Tell that to Jimmy,” Coach Finstock muttered. Jimmy was Coach’s cousin aka Head of Technical Support and _very_ impressed with Stiles' game. Stiles felt the business card in his pocket. Not a bad connection. “Thanks for the win. I’ll think of you when he’s buying me dinner.”

“I do what I can to help,” Stiles said.

“Stay sharp, Stilinski,” Coach said. “Don’t fuck up your life. It almost seems promising.”

Stiles waved at Coach’s abrupt turn, feeling oddly touched. “Aww, he does care.”

“He seemed…nice?” Lyle said.

Stiles smirked. Lyle had been on the receiving end of Coach’s yelling. He even said Greenburg was _almost_ more useful. His group did not properly understand the direness of the situation. “He has his moments.”

“Hear me out,” Neha said. Stiles raised an eyebrow. He was expecting at least a peer-pressured, insincere apology, but not in front of the group. It made the apology seem almost genuine. “I…wasn’t thinking. Earlier, I mean. I was  _so_ insensitive. I’ve just been obsessed with Beacon Hills for a while—not that that’s an excuse—and I let my excitement get away from me. I am sorry. I’m sorry for everyone you lost. I’m sorry I was an asshole. And I’m just so sorry that I hurt you.”

“That helps,” Stiles said after a moment. “I’m just still pissed at you right now. I’ll accept your apology later when I actually mean it.”

Neha gave a jerky nod and hurried away. Stiles vaguely hoped he didn’t make her cry.

“I am going to forgive her,” Stiles said to no one particularly. “Everyone’s had a moment of stupidity. I just wouldn’t mean it at all right now and don’t feel like messing with this shit.”

“Well, I know that—“ Billy began.

“Please no vague reference,” Stiles pleaded.

“Bilinski!”

Stiles’ head jerked around.

“You’re officially invited to dinner! Now clean up and meet us here in thirty!”

Stiles smiled and waved to his group as he hurried to his room to shower and change. Coach cares when he’s not paying attention.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Why did we have to meet with our groups?” Neha asked. “Your text was unnecessarily cryptic.”

“It’s nothing major,” Lyle said. “I was going to wait until everyone arrived, but there’s evidence that a Noogler is getting outside help and using unfair resources. Security is checking rooms while we have our group meetings.”

“Are any of us a suspect?” Nick asked.

“I believe any outside, unfair resources we had access to would have been apparent in the first couple competitions,” Yo-Yo said.

“Harsh, Yo-Yo,” Nick said, “but point taken.”

“Where’s Stu?” Billy asked.

Nick grimaced. “I don’t think we’ll bond with the kid if we give him unwanted nicknames.”

“He’s ‘Stiles’ back at home,” Billy argued.

“Don’t want to poke a hornet’s nest,” Neha said.

“He’s not that bad,” Lyle protested. Neha noticed how he pointedly refused to make eye contact with her. She mentally sighed.  Her relationship with Stuart had taken a turn toward awkward. Stuart accepted her apology the day after her excitement-driven insensitivity, and appeared to actually be sincere. But Neha knew that the tentative steps they made towards friendship were in shambles. “Stuart is heading this way. He’s bringing a friend who is visiting him.”

“I like meeting people who know Stuart,” Nick said. “He opens up more.”

“You get that from simply meeting his lacrosse coach?” Yo-Yo asked.

“It’s a pattern I’m sensing,” Nick said.

A California surfer voice broke through the conversation. “Dude, I can’t believe you get all this free food. Like no charge. We should get more after your geek squad meeting.”

“Scott, the amount of food we’ve taken would make even hobbits gawk,” Stuart protested. The team turned to see Stuart walking towards them with a tan guy with a slightly crooked jaw on his heels. Neha ran her eyes appreciatively over the hot guy’s—Scott’s—muscles. “Behind their polite smiles, the food people are growing to hate me. They’re going to spit in my food.”

“Nah, I’m too charming,” Scott said. “I’ll make up for your insolence.”

“Look who’s using a big kid word,” Stuart mocked.

“Shut up, dude,” Scott said. “Do I really need to remind you who got a higher score in the English and Reading portions of the ACT?”

“Rude.”

Scott gave Stuart a dazzling grin.

“Hey, Stuart,” Lyle greeted.

“Hey,” Stuart said. “This is Scott. He’s a friend from home. He’s going to sit quietly in the corner. It’s okay. He’s potty-trained.”

“Introduce me to your team, _Stuart_ ,” Scott said.

Stuart shot him a withering look. It was more fond than threatening, however. “Lyle is the Google leader, then there’s Billy, Nick, Neha, and Yo-Yo.”

“Yo,” Scott greeted.

“Yes, you’re very clever,” Stuart said, rolling his eyes. “So why was the meeting called?”

“No reason,” Nick answered. “Lyle said that some people are probably cheating so security is checking rooms. We’re just killing time.”

“Awesome,” Scott said, “we should get food.”

“We’re not leaving when security is paranoid, Scott,” Stuart said. “Have gum.”

“But pudding…” Scott pouted with surprisingly effective puppy eyes.

With the ease of someone who has experienced said puppy eyes for years, Stuart’s expression remained firm. “No.”

"I have some pudding,” Billy said, pulling a container from his bag. Lyle opened his mouth, but decided against berating the older man.

“Thanks!” Scott said with genuine enthusiasm. “Billy, right?”

"The one and only,” Billy said. “So how did you and Stuart meet?”

“Oh, we’ve known each other for ages,” Scott said, inhaling his next bite of pudding. “We met at a sandbox when we were four. The rest is history. Right, Stiles?”

“Yes, it’s a very beautiful story,” Stuart said from across the room. Neha’s eyes narrowed when she realized Stuart and Yo-Yo were hovering over a computer. She had absolutely no idea what they were doing. Lyle was near them so it obviously couldn’t be anything too bad. She felt a pang. Stuart was opening up to everyone but her, which was entirely her fault. Why was rambling a thing?

“So has dark and stormy always been dark and stormy?” Billy asked.

Scott promptly choked on pudding. “‘Dark and stormy’? Do you really call him that? _Dude_.”

“Not a word!” Stuart said, jerking his head away from the computer.

“You’re _broody_ and _antisocial_ ,” Scott said with positive glee. “Who does that sound like?”

“I’m not broody and antisocial,” Stuart snarled.

“You even sound like him!”

“…You were a little broody and antisocial,” Nick said hesitantly, “but only at the beginning.”

Stuart shot Nick a scandalized look as Scott cackled.

“Derek will be so proud,” Scott snickered. “Wait until I tell—”

“I’ll tell your mom what you really did last summer.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“Drop the phone.”

Scott’s fingers hesitated over his keyboard. “I’ll tell your dad what _you_ did last summer.”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay_?”

“Do it.”

“Don’t act nonchalant. Your dad won’t see you the same again.”

“After all the shit we’ve been through, I really doubt that this will even blip his radar.”

“Liar,” Scott said triumphantly.

Stuart didn’t even defend himself. “He’ll be shocked but it’s not the worst thing he’s ever heard about me.”

“Hmph.”

“He definitely won’t react worse than your mom.”

Scott's face fell. “Damn, you’re right.”

“So drop the phone.”

Scott studied Stuart for all of one second before putting his phone on the table. “That was uncalled for.”

“It was completely appropriate,” Stuart said, smugly picking up Scott’s phone.

“So, Stuart wasn’t always dark and stormy?” Nick asked, amusement evident in his voice.

“Nope,” Scott said, sulkily. He brightened as he turned his attention fully back to them. “So how do you like Google?”

Scott let them gush about Google and the competition. He nodded encouragingly in all the right places, even though he probably heard a similar ramble from Stuart—not that Neha could picture Stuart babbling this much. He even got socially inept Yo-Yo to talk when Stuart and Yo-Yo finally wandered over. Scott’s open smile did wonders. Stuart even ignored his phone as he and Scott good naturedly bickered about various points of their friendship.

“Are you saying you two weren’t ladykillers during the glory of high school?” Neha asked, laughing. When Lyle announced that security was finished, the group glanced at each other and somehow migrated to the couches. Thirty minutes later and Neha was irrationally pleased with the constant stream of conversation. This was probably the most open Stuart has ever been around them and the closest the team has gotten to actual bonding.

“Nah, I only dated a—um couple people,” Scott said, clearly his throat uncomfortably.

“I was obsessed with the same girl since third grade,” Stuart quickly interjected. “Does that count?”

“Depends on the end results,” Yo-Yo said.

“Yeah, did Stu do the do?” Billy asked, far more pleased with his rhymes than he should.

“Yeah, Stu,” Scott said.

Stuart gave an exasperated sigh. “Really?”

“What?” Scott asked far too innocently. “Stuey? Stuey-Stu? Art? Stu? Sue? Stules?”

“Scott, I will rip your face off.”

“Oh, who does that sound like?”

“And put Legos in all your shoes.”

“Such a drama queen… _Stiles_.”

“Thank you.”

“Like Lydia.”

“Is Lydia your unrequited love?” Nick asked. Neha doubted there would ever be a time when Scott and Stuart’s bickering was not entertaining.

“Yes, she is,” Scott answered. “She ignored him mostly. That didn’t stop his love, though.”

Stuart dodged Scott’s playful hit. “My love _evolved_.”

“Into what? Stalking?” Neha quipped. Her frozen posture quickly relaxed with Scott’s laugh and Stuart’s smirk.

“I don’t know,” Scott mused. “What’s the technical definition of stalking?”

“Less serious than kidnapping?” Stuart said.

"Dude, you were in on that too!”

“Well, yeah, but they already knew about me. I was just condemning you too.”

“Thanks for that.”

“What are friends for?”

“Good point,” Scott acknowledged. He turned to the team. “He and Lydia never dated.”

The team groaned collectively.

“We became friends,” Stuart protested.

“Ooh, you were friend-zoned?” Lyles winced in sympathy.

“What? No…well yeah,” Stuart stuttered, “but it was…mutual?”

“You sound pathetic,” Scott said in amusement.

“Well, it’s true!”

“I think it’s more accurate to say that you pined after her well into our junior year, she deemed you worthy of her attention near the end of our sophomore year, and you two actually became good friends in the beginning of junior year.”

“Whatever, fine,” Stuart said dismissively, texting on his phone. Neha glanced around. She was not the only person getting far too much enjoyment from their interactions. It was refreshing to see how completely familiar and comfortable Stuart and Scott were with each other.

“Are you tattling to her?” Scott asked, peering over Stuart’s shoulder.

“I’m talking to Lydia about how you’re an asshat. Tattling implies that I’m telling her something she doesn’t know.”

“Oh, how clever.”

“I thought so,” Stiles said. His phone buzzed. “Lydia wishes me to remind you that she’s the one you go to for fashion advice and homework help and she is prepared to play favorites.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“Her favorite bitch, bitch.”

Scott grumbled before freezing. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before,” Scott breathed. Stuart glanced up and quickly zeroed in on the gaming system Scott was eyeing. And people think _he_ has a short attention span.

“You play Call of Duty?” Lyle said, glancing at the one game in the room.

“Of course!” Scott said. “How many controllers are there?”

“Enough for everyone,” Lyle said. “Call of Duty then?”

 

* * *

 

“Dude, they were awesome,” Scott said. The mini Call of Duty tournament lasted two hours, with varying degrees of skills. Unsurprisingly, Nick and Billy floundered at first, but caught on quicker than Stiles’ anticipated. Neha and Yo-Yo were beasts. Lyle was decent, but clearly out of practice—that changed twenty minutes in. The race to the ultimate winner was hard fought, but finally won, deservedly, by Neha. Despite Stiles’ rather creative trash talk and Scott’s one wolfish snarl that he is used to unleashing whenever he plays with Stiles. The rest of the team was startled while Stiles managed to kill Neha and Yo-Yo. His obnoxious comment and Scott’s sheepish explanation of imitating animal noises were enough to distract his team. “Besides the technology gap between you guys and Nick and Billy, I don’t know what your issue was.”

“I told you I was channeling Jackson when I first got here,” Stiles said, closing his door behind him. Luckily, his assigned roommate had a girlfriend in town and disappeared most nights. Stiles had triple-checked that his roommate was gone this weekend.

“Can I meet British Jackson?” Scott asked, flopping on Stiles’ bed.

“Meh, if we run into him,” Stiles said, lying down next to his best friend. They laid in content silence, both staring at the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, Stiles broke the silence first. “Thanks.”

“You know I wanted to pester you while you were here,” Scott said, “and I didn’t want you to be alone this weekend.”

“Yeah, I…just…this is exactly what I needed.”

Scott threw an arm around Stiles because, yeah, they were cuddling. Manly bro cuddles because they were both tactile and Scott knew. Stiles loved that Scott just knew. The anniversary of his mother’s death never got easier with time. Usually his dad tried to visit him at college or Stiles would go home, but his dad was working overtime to keep his mind off life because Stiles was not sure if he could escape this weekend—Google was keeping the timing of their next competition annoyingly secretive. As much as Stiles liked Lyle, he did not want Lyle (and probably the team) to act off around him. Most people did not know how to handle Stiles so they ended up treated him like he would breakdown. Enter Scott, his lovable best friend. Scott kept Stiles busy with Google tours, nonstop food, inane conversation, video games, and tons of distracting, nothingness that Stiles did not know he craved before this weekend. Scott also made it easier for him to actually talk and appreciate his team. He was the helpful bridge that allowed Stiles be less aggressive sarcastic and more amusing sarcastic.

“Sorry, they brought up…”   

“Allison?”

“Yeah.”

“They didn’t know.”

“I know…”

“It still hurts," Scott said. "I just…I miss her so much. I’ll always love her just…I have to let her go and it’s hard.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“It’s not getting easier.”

“I know, man.”

“It’s been years.”

“I know…”

“It’s because of Allison I _knew_ I couldn’t leave you alone,” Scott said insistently, turning his head to look at Stiles. “If I felt like this after years…you…I just had to be here.”

“I appreciate it,” Stiles said. Scott was undeniably and will always be his best friend. “Love you, man.”

“Love you too.”

 

* * *

 

Scott was ecstatic the next morning when they bumped into British Jackson. Stiles was helping him load his bags into his car when it happened. Sadly, the entire exchange was Scott bumping into British Jackson and receiving a harsh insult questioning both his intelligence and his ability to properly control his body functions. Scott did not even defend himself or craft a witty retort. Had he learned nothing over the years? Although, Scott’s shit-eating grin at the entire British Jackson interaction confused the hell out of British Jackson so Stiles accepted it as a decent response.

“Dude, you were right.”

“You say that like it’s something new.”

Scott flashed his broad, fond grin at Stiles. “I’ll see you at the end of the summer.”

“It was good seeing you again,” Stiles said, meeting Scott halfway for an engulfing hug. Scott picked him up and swung him around because he was a dick like that. Wolfy powers or no, Stiles squirmed and smacked Scott until he was released.

“See you later,” Scott said, his attempt at a triumphant, suave exit ruined when he whacked his head on the roof of his car.

Stiles snorted. Loudly. This was the man he chose to be best friends with. “You would be dead without me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles groaned, sipping his coffee from Google’s cafe. Last night was unexpectedly epic and easily one of the most fun nights of his life. He was thrilled that their app won, but now the sun was too bright and the people were too loud. He made himself scarce from his room because his roommate’s girlfriend apparently wanted to tour Google. So far, they’ve explored the room—the _shared_ room. The rest of his team could, and have, escaped to their designated rooms which prompted Stiles’ decision to drink coffee and sulk in the middle of the bright light and loud people. It was not his smartest idea, he would admit.

“Is this seat taken?”

Why were people a thing? Stiles’ head was pounding and idle chitchat sounded revolting. He mumbled, which the ass apparently decided meant ‘no’ and sat across the table, the chair screeching unpleasantly. His mumble distinctly meant ‘go away before I slice you with werewolf kung fu.’ He needed to lecture the guy about the different types of mumbles.

“Rough night?”

Why was the voice so amused? Fucking voice and fucking guy who does not understand the language of mumbles. Stiles had to make him go away. Talking seemed tedious and he just wanted to sulk. He had not drunk that much in a very long time because he usually shied away from excessive drinking. But back to the problem at hand: making the dipshit disappear. Maybe a glare. A glare would work to rid him of this ungodly parasite and had the added bonus of no talking or mumbling, which the guy already proved inept at understanding. A fierce glare was needed. A glare that would put even Derek’s to shame. It was Stiles’ best option.

“You probably get this a lot,” the intruder continued, “but you’re very attractive to gay guys.”

Stiles froze in his muddled state before finally looking up. A grinning Danny greeted him. “You’re an ass.”

“Sorry,” Danny laughed, which only added to his sincerity. “I just saw you across the room and was like _damn_ and decided I definitely needed to talk to the nice hunk of meat sitting by his lonesome. Imagine my surprise when the hottie was you.”

Stiles glared suspiciously at Danny. “Really?”

Danny just smirked. Ass. “Not even going to ask why I’m here?”

“Why are you at Google, Danny?”

“Look at you still being social in your hungover state! I’m proud of you.”

"Are you touring and looking for a job?”

“Well, I’m making connections,” Danny said, “but mostly I came because I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by for a visit.”

“If you told me, I would have attempted to be in better shape.”

“What happened?” Danny asked. “I didn’t picture Google as a party place during an internship.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Stiles said. He quickly told Danny about last night’s miscommunication that led to the dance club that was not a dance club. It _did_ lead to a winning app so Stiles claimed the dance club was preemptive planning.

“An app that doesn’t allow you to send drunk texts or calls?” Danny asked. “That’s actually brilliant. I’ll definitely download it.”

“Thanks, man,” Stiles said. “Sorry, I’m so out of it. But I can fake it and introduce you to some Googlers if you want. The Head of Tech Support actually really likes me.”

“Really? That’d be great.”

“Just a FYI, the dude is Coach’s cousin.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Small world.”

“Right? Coach actually came up a couple weeks ago. It scared the shit out of me.”

“That would scare the shit out of anybody,” Danny said, “and just a warning: Jackson is with me.”

Stiles blinked. “I didn’t know you guys kept in contact.”

Danny’s answering stare correctly convened ‘well, obviously.’ Stiles knew he would do the same if someone questioned him and Scott keeping in touch, but he was hesitant to compare his and Scott’s relationship to Danny and Jackson’s.

“When did he get back?” Stiles asked, somewhat less pleased that he had to deal with the original douchebag.

“At the beginning of the summer,” Danny said. “I visited him last winter break, so it was his turn to travel transatlantic. Another warning: Despite my advice, Jackson visited Lydia. It did not go well. Our visit to Stanford is why we were so close to you.”

“He visited Lydia? Did he at least warn her he was visiting?” Stiles groaned at Danny’s shaking head. “How bad?”

“Well, their reunion started out civil,” Danny said, “but Lydia never quite forgave him for leaving so suddenly, as you know. So when Jackson was being a dick…Things got out of hand very quickly.”

“Jackson is always a dick,” Stiles said. “What was he bitching about?”

Danny took a sip of his smoothie. Stiles’ eyes twitched in annoyance at Danny’s obvious ploy to buy time. He better not hold anything back. Stiles would hate to evoke a Lydia rant when he weaseled it out of her. He needed to get some idea of how pissed she was before he tried to defused her anger—a rant only helped about a third of the time. “He started to complain about Scott’s pack—you and Scott specifically—a _lot_. Then he mentioned something else about trying to stay in touch and she exploded at him. I’ve never seen him so scared and he used to get Lydia tirades every day.”

“That was years ago,” Stiles said dismissively. “He lost his immunity. How angry was she when you last saw her?”

“We left right after that so she was still raging,” Danny said.

“Where is the douchebag?”

“The douchebag is right here,” Jackson practically growled, sliding into the seat next to Danny.

“I’m glad I finally trained you to respond to your true nature. Or are you still having that whole lizard identity crisis?”

Jackson’s eyes widened and flicked towards Danny. He promptly kicked Stiles. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Stilinski.”

“On last name bases now, Whittemore?”

“I don’t want to be on any bases with you.”

“Alright, pretty boy,” Stiles said indifferently. He glanced at Danny. “So does Jackson really not…”

“Nope,” Danny said, smugly leaning back in his chair.

“You sly dog,” Stiles grinned. “I’m now very happy that you were the first person to proposition me.”

“Dude, you have standards,” Jackson said, sounding very much like a disappointed father. Stiles flipped him off. “What are you two going on about?”

“Don’t like being left out of the loop?” Stiles asked. “I can’t empathize.”

“Neither can I,” Danny agreed. “Jackson, do try to explain how it feels.”

“Don’t act so paralyzed,” Stiles scolded at Jackson’ silence. “Cat got your tongue?”

Jackson silently snarled.

“So angry,” Stiles sighed. “Not like cats? How about wolves?”

“More like a lone wolf, really,” Danny mused.

Jackson leveled a glare at Danny, realization dawning in his expression as he analyzed his friend. “How long have you known?”

“What?” Danny asked. “I was gay? I’m hurt you asked. You were the first friend I told.”

“You _know_ what I’m talking about.”

Danny waited, expectantly staring at his best friend.

“I believe Danny is a little lost, Jackson,” Stiles said.

“You told him, didn’t you?” Jackson hissed, directing the full heat of his glower towards Stiles. As a person well-experienced with supernatural displeasure, Stiles found Jackson’s attempt adorable.

“Jackson, you’re as subtle as a train wreck on a boat,” Danny snapped. “Even if I hadn’t seen the video of your transformation, I still would have known because everyone at Beacon Hills sucks at being stealthy.”

“I’m stealthy!” Stiles protested.

“You’re better than Scott,” Danny allowed.

“Rude.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jackson interrupted.

“I’m a grudge holder,” Danny said, shrugging. “I thought you knew that.”

“I explained why I left,” Jackson said, “and we skyped at _least_ once a week.”

“How adorable.” Stiles’ snark was immediately rewarded Jackson’s middle finger.

“A-are you mad I didn’t tell you I was a werewolf?” Jackson asked hesitantly, after checking to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

“No, I’m perfectly peachy with that.” The amount of sarcasm in Danny’s voice impressed even Stiles.

“It was a secret,” Jackson hissed, “and I didn’t want to scare you!”

“Scott told Stiles,” Danny argued.

Even Stiles’ uneasiness with comparing him and Scott to Jackson and Danny couldn’t stop his slight correction. “Actually, I told Scott. He didn’t think he was a werewolf until that full moon.”

“Wow, he is reliant on you,” Jackson said.

“Please, that’s common knowledge.”

“Danny,” Jackson began. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, even though now your insistence on always making plans with me on full moons makes sense. I couldn’t find the right time to do it, but I _was_ going to tell you.”

“I’m driving the Porsche back,” Danny said after a moment, “and we’re going to my boyfriend’s concert where you will be charming.”

“Alright.”

“I’m still annoyed at you,” Danny reminded.

“Yeah…I know,” Jackson said. “I can tell you some embarrassing supernatural stories.”

“Please,” Danny said, “you think blackmail will help return you to my good graces?”

“Yep.”

Danny smirked. “Well, it certainly doesn’t _hurt_.”

“Excuse me,” Jackson asked to someone who most definitely was not help. Stiles smothered a grin. “Can you get me a bagel?”

British Jackson drew himself up to his full height and glared down indignantly. “No, even if I did work here, which I don’t, you unobservant twat, I wouldn’t serve the likes of you.”

Jackson sneered, not even blinking at the immediate, harsh retort. “It is obvious you don’t work here, isn’t it? You would be fired if you did, for one. You also obviously don’t have a steady source of income. It’s such a shame you can’t afford decent clothes.”

“I actually don’t rely on my looks,” British Jackson bristled. Stiles knew for a fact British Jackson loved his wardrobe. “Unlike some people.”

“If you want my fashion advice just say it,” Jackson said unimpressed.

“Why would I ever listen to you?”

“You have no place to go but up. You have nothing to lose in this situation.”

British Jackson sputtered. Stiles was delighted.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said. “I didn’t know your fashion, or lack thereof, would be such a shock to you. Should I have insulted your mom or intelligence?”

“Who the hell do you—“

“I love this so much,” Stiles whispered to Danny. Danny smiled slightly, as he took a sip of his smoothie.

“Who’s the other guy?”

“British Jackson?”

Danny frowned, as the sharp retorts continued around them. “‘British Jackson’? You do realize that Jackson is _living_ in London currently.”

“Well, which guy is the one with the accent? It’s—wait. Jackson doesn’t have an _accent,_ does he?”

“Yeah actually,” Danny laughed. “Whenever I visit him or pick him up from the airport. He had one for three days at the beginning of the summer.”

“How pretentious.”

“Isn’t it?”

“British Jackson is Graham, by the way.”

“Oh, _Stuart_ ,” British Jackson said, turning to his new target since Jackson was apparently winning the douche-off. Tiredly, Stiles shifted his attention towards British Jackson. “I hear your team finally won. I hope you don’t think this is a shift, or something mundane like that, in this internship. My team is perfection. You’ll have to appreciate that from afar since you refused to join the first day.”

“Wow,” Stiles drawled, “you rambled that long to bitch about me not wanting to be on your team? I’m kind of sad that I’ll never get those fifteen seconds back. I could have cured cancer or impregnated a girl or something.”

“Like a girl wants to be with you,” Jackson scoffed.

“I’m sure Lydia wouldn’t mind my company.”

Danny quickly stood to push the rising Jackson back into his chair. He raised an eyebrow at Stiles that seemed to question his intelligence. “Fuck off, dude,” Danny directed at British Jackson. “You were leaving like ten minutes ago. Do you really have nothing better to do with your time?”

British Jackson leered at them, but left with no parting comment.

Jackson kicked Stiles hard underneath the tabled. Stiles yelped.

“You think you’re funny, Stilinski?”

“Yeah, generally.”

“Jackson, Stiles, please stop,” Danny said, wearily sitting back into his chair. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

Jackson made an attempt to look less murderous, but still glared daggers at Stiles. Stiles smiled innocently at Danny, which immediately earned him another raised eyebrow. Well, some people are never pleased…

“So how long has Greenburg been here?” Jackson asked, obviously attempting to make somewhat civil conversation.

“He’s here?”

Jackson snorted. “And you call yourself observant.”

“No, I call myself the sheriff’s kid.”

“You’re an embarrassment to Beacon Hills.”

“Have you not _seen_ —“

Danny cleared his throat, shooting them both annoyed looks.

Stiles sighed. Jackson made being civil so difficult. “So, why attack his clothes? With the guy earlier.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jackson said. “He had carefully rolled up sleeves, immaculate hair, and was color-coordinated. He obviously cares about his appearance.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles said in sudden realization. “You plan out your insults in a somewhat clever manner?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Obviously, Stilinski. Why bother wasting an insult that won’t cause actual pain?”

“Huh. That's surprisingly sadistic of you."

“I’m sad I’m associated with you.”

“Yeah well I don’t like to babysit supernatural assholes who don’t know how to handle their emotions," Stiles said. "Yet here we are.”

“What about Derek?”

Stiles flushed. He mentally cursed at Jackson’s smirk. Smug bastard. “I will lead you to one of Google’s backrooms and leave you to die.”

“Now, now girls, you’re both pretty,” Danny said. “How about that tour?”

Stiles glanced at his watch. Not that he had anywhere to be today. But whatever. “Yeah, sure. Follow me.”

Danny got up and led a hostile Jackson, who bumped Stiles with his shoulder, toward the café exit. Dick. He, unsurprisingly, still strongly disliked Jackson—shame London didn’t mature him. Besides his obnoxious personality, Jackson caused Lydia pain. Even if the pain was fleeting, Stiles doesn’t let people get away with that. His feelings towards Jackson are forever going to be influenced by Lydia and Stiles found that perfectly okay, especially when he took Danny and Jackson by the pervy janitor. Jackson was delightfully mortified.


	5. Chapter 5

Yo-Yo was in love.

He always looked down on the notion of love at first sight until this moment.

She was perfect. She was ferocious, gorgeous, scarily intelligent, and currently patronizing Graham. He had no idea where the stunning strawberry blonde girl came from—even though her visitor’s tag had ‘Stanford’ in bold—but she was easily the highlight of his Google internship. It wasn’t often that Graham was put in his place, and never so efficiently and scornfully.

“Is there a problem?” a Stanford professor asked in a crisp, British accent. Yo-Yo gulped when he realized he was the ‘Professor X’ Billy and Nick ran into.

“Some Google intern was lamenting the fact he lost some math equation challenge and didn’t appreciate me telling him what he did wrong,” the strawberry blonde said matter-of-factly.

“And you were polite about it, I assume.”

The strawberry blonde smiled toothily. Yo-Yo pictured her smiling like that when she lovingly hugged somebody and stabbed them in the back—for a greater purpose, of course. Oh, how he wanted to talk to her. But people were scary. He barely opened up to his team. The current comradely was due to both Nick and Billy’s charisma and his mother’s scolding that efficient teams had at least moderate communication skills.

‘Professor X’ rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re lucky you’re one of my top students.”

“ _One_ of your top students?”

“What answer did you get for the equation?” the professor asked, ignoring the strawberry blonde’s scandalized question. Graham had disappeared with an indignant huff a few minutes earlier when it became apparent that the professor was not going to reprimand the strawberry blonde.

"The correct one.”

“Of course,” ‘Professor X’ mused. “Come now, it’s time to eat.”

“Actually, I’m going to hunt down Stiles and impose my company on him,” the strawberry blonde said. “I haven’t seen him since he was accepted here.”

“I’m sure Mr. Stilinski will be more than happy to see you. Tell him to see me before we leave. Something happened at the beginning of the summer and I feel like he was behind it.”

“I’ll pass on the message.”

“D-do you mean,” Yo-Yo stuttered. The strawberry blonde whipped around and focused her intense gaze on him. He gulped. “Um…I mean are you looking for Stuart? Er well—”

The strawberry blonde’s expression slid from slight contempt to a dazzling smile. “You must be on Sti-uart’s team. Hello, I’m Lydia Martin.”

“Hello,” Yo-Yo greeted shyly.

Lydia turned her coy smile at him. “Do you mind showing me where Stuart is?”

“O-of course not,” Yo-Yo said, knowing the rest of his team were in hanging out by a lounge area next to Lyle’s office. “Follow me.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said. When Yo-Yo caught her in his peripheral vision, he was met with a calculating stare. “So what is your major?”

This Yo-Yo was confident about and could talk about long enough to cover their trip from the open conference room to his team. Lydia frightened him. Not only because his social skills were lacking, but because she was a force to be reckoned with. He was pathetically enraptured after seeing her a mere ten minutes ago. He quickly launched into his spiel on a Computer Science Major and a Biology Minor and his plans for the future. Lydia even looked vaguely impressed at the end. Yo-Yo flushed.

“Lyds, don’t break the poor guy,” Stuart taunted, his smirk turning into a genuine grin when Lydia turned to glare at him. Yo-Yo started, having been distracted by Lydia to notice his team openly staring at him. Yo-Yo awkwardly walked behind Neha. She would probably deflect attention from him sooner rather than later. Plus she knew how to handle girls. A cautionary measure in case Lydia tried to talk to him again. His heart thudded with anticipation and panic.

"If I ‘broke’ him,” Lydia said sharply. “He would be a puddle on the floor. Try to recall third grade to junior year of high school if you need a refresher.”

“Not the pining,” Stuart said, putting his hands over his heart in mock pain. “I thought we were bros.”

“I’m a girl, Stiles.”

“At least I’m not a furry.”

“I’m _not_ a furry.”

“A scaley?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You know you love me.”

“I can’t believe I associate with you.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Lydia said, smiling softly and finally giving Stuart a hug. “Texting isn’t really the same as seeing you every day.”

“Don’t tell me this is the same girl Scott talked about who friend-zoned you?” Lyle said.

“Actually, he friend-zoned me,” Lydia corrected. “He moved onto bigger and better things.”

Stuart scoffed. “Maybe I just decided to accept that you were forever out of my reach?”

“Flattery doesn’t get you everywhere.”

“I haven’t seen you all summer,” Stuart reminded.

“True, you can keep going then.”

“You’re so kind.”

“And…?”

“Humble, obviously.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Professor Bush knows you sent some guys to call him Charles Xavier.”

“You _knew_?” Nick asked.

“Well, I knew he resembled Professor X,” Stuart said. “Yo-Yo named the ‘bug programmer’ you searched for. I was following his lead.”

“I didn’t know,” Yo-Yo protested.

“Of course you didn’t,” Lydia said, smiling slightly when he blushed again. She smacked Stuart when he snorted. “Stiles probably knew you would head that way in your description. Someone was probably wearing an X-Men shirt or something similar.”

“There was a Charles Xavier figurine nearby,” Yo-Yo frowned.

“Don’t act innocent,” Lydia scolded Stuart. He held up his hands in mock surrender.

“So why are you here?” Neha asked. Lydia narrowed her eyes at her. Yo-Yo didn’t know if it was because of Neha’s tone or that Yo-Yo was closer to her. He was hoping for the latter.

“I’m going to take a wild shot in the dark,” Stuart said, cocking an eyebrow at Lydia’s disgruntled expression, “and say that you’re with the group of Stanford students touring Google and going to a few seminars.”

“Nothing gets by you,” Lydia said. “I can tell living with the sheriff most of your life has paid off.”

“Such snark.”

“Please, your sass is worse than mine _and_ Malia’s combined,” Lydia said. “You, unfortunately, rubbed off on all of us.”

“Aww, thanks.”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“How long are you staying?” Yo-Yo asked. He ignored Billy and Nick, who glanced at each other like proud parents. Their little Yo-Yo was growing up and socializing. He blushed for the hundredth time that day. Lydia’s fond glare at Stuart turned more polite when she turned to Yo-Yo.

“Just today, unfortunately,” Lydia said. “I’m spending my lunch break with Stuart.”

“How did you bump into Yo-Yo?” Billy asked innocently.

“I was correcting one of the interns on his equation. He was quite upset he lost some competition so I pointed out where he went wrong.”

“Were you right?” Lyle asked curiously. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“It was Graham,” Yo-Yo informed the team. “And yes, she was right.”

“Graham?” Neha laughed. “That must have been hilarious.”

“It was satisfying,” Yo-Yo said. Stuart said something under his breath that Yo-Yo missed. Apparently, he was not the only one.

“Try not to mumble, Stiles,” Lydia said, barely glancing at him. “What did you say?”

Stuart hesitated and Lydia zeroed in on him. “Um…I just said it was ironic because I nicknamed Graham British Jackson,” Stuart rattled off quickly.

Lydia hummed, examining her nails.

“Did you not want to intern at Google?” Lyle asked.

“It’s not my area of interest,” Lydia said. “I’m taking summer courses so I can graduate next semester and start working on my masters.”

“You have it all planned out, don’t you?” Yo-Yo breathed.

Lydia’s gaze flickered towards the Asian. “I like to be prepared.”

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Yo-Yo said, frowning as he desperately tried to remember what the French said about full moons. Something romantic, he was almost positive.

“Good observation,” Stiles said.

“I’ll watch out for werewolves,” Lydia said in mock seriousness.

Neha shot Stuart a betrayed look while he shrugged, but refused to meet either girl’s eyes. The exchange was quick, but Lydia’s eyes narrowed at their interaction.

“Did something happen?” Lydia asked sharply, all traces of good humor gone.

“What?” Stuart said. “No.”

She glared at him. “Don’t lie to me. _You_ ,” she turned to Neha, “did something. Let’s see, you’re the horny, nerd girl, aren’t you? Talk before you think? So you’re probably very well-versed with internet conspiracies.”

“Lydia, stop,” Stuart said. She ignored him.

“Like, I don’t know… _Beacon Hills_?”

“It’s fine,” Stuart said. “She just talked about werewolves and animal attacks.”

“Don’t give me half-assed responses,” Lydia hissed. “You’re not an enigma. I can read your face easier than I read Latin.”

“But it’s—”

“Ok!” Neha interrupted. “You don’t have to turn Sherlock-y on me. I’ll admit it! I was stupid and insensitive at the beginning of the summer and questioned Stuart about the serial killers and attacks at Beacon Hills.”

Lydia’s expression didn’t flicker. “If that’s all you talked about, then Stiles wouldn’t have acted so defensive. Clearly, you insulted him and…he’s trying to deflect me from questioning you so it’ll hurt me as well…” Lydia murmured this last part to herself, but continued to study Stuart’s face for any indications that she was close. Stuart’s face was neutral to Yo-Yo, but Lydia had known him for _much_ longer. Her gaze flickered to Neha. “You either asked him about his abduction, his father missing, or a friend’s death.”

“I…” Neha began, but clearly had no idea what to say in order to shield herself from Lydia’s relentless rampage.

“Boyd or Allison?”

The team remained silent. No one—even Stuart—seemed to know how to rectify the situation.

“Allison…” Lydia breathed. Her face was frozen. Lydia’s hand unconsciously reached for one of her necklaces. It was a simple, silver ‘A.’

“Lydia,” Stuart said cautiously, taking a slow step towards her.

Her gaze instantly narrowed at Neha, Lydia’s bottom lip quivering. “What did you say about her?”

Neha’s eyes bulged at Lydia’s threatening tone.

“What did you say?!”

“Lydia, it’s not—“

“Don’t talk to me, Stiles! What. Did. You. Say.”

“It’s…” Neha mumbled.

“It’s _what_? What could you possibly say that was so…so _ignorant_ and _stupid_ that Stiles refuses to tell me? What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, that makes everything alright, doesn’t it? Allison was my _best friend_ and she died. So what the _fuck_ did you say about her?” Lydia shouted, her eyes glistening.

“I just talked about her like she was a normal victim,” Neha said quickly. “I said she wasn’t important.”

Lydia bit her lips, but her glare turned cold through her stray tears. “You would be the best judge of that, wouldn’t you? All alone, having nothing but the internet to serve as human contact. Some normal people were out living—having boyfriends, winning prom queen, remaining at the top of the class—not that you would know what _that_ was like.”

“It was a mistake! I didn’t mean it!”

"What? You forget that events at Beacon Hills would actually affect people who lived at Beacon Hills? I would like to think you’re not that moronic.”

“I’m _sorry_.”

“That’s not good enough,” Lydia hissed. “You think you can insult my best friend’s memory and expect a simple ‘sorry’ to be enough? I don’t think so. Stiles is much more forgiving than I am. Don’t expect the same treatment from me just because he felt guilty enough to accept your apology.”

“Lydia, come with me. Now,” Stuart said. He grabbed Lydia’s arm and pulled her quickly out of the room. She followed with little protests, but continued to glare at Neha.

Neha sat down in the lounge as soon as they left. “I’m a terrible person.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles shut the door behind him as he watched Lydia prowl around the empty office.

“What’s wrong with her? Does she have absolutely no common sense? Or, I don’t know, _feelings_? It’s like she’s an absolute robot! She has absolutely no concept on how to handle social interactions! How could she think Allison’s death was unimportant? Allison was my be-best friend!”

Stiles instantly wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace as she sobbed against his chest.

“I miss her so much,” Lydia hiccupped.

“I know, Lyds.”

Lydia’s tears soaked through his shirt. They were cloaked in the darkness of the empty office, the only sound were Lydia’s choked sobs.

"Neha didn't mean to be so insensitive,” Stiles said softly. “And Allison wouldn’t want you be upset and lash out after all these years.”

“I know,” Lydia said, “but don’t try to excuse your teammate’s actions. She is not on my good side.”

“Nah, really?” Stiles said with just enough snark that Lydia giggled. He counted that as a success.

“Well, glad we got our emotional drama out of the way,” Lydia teased, her voice shaking slightly. “Nothing else slightly traumatizing to talk about.”

Stiles hummed. Lydia glanced up at her friend. Lydia was studying him like he was some lab specimen. He hated when she turned her calculating stare on him.

“What is it, Stiles?”

“Nothing.”

“Stiles.”

“It doesn’t matter, _now_.”

“Stiles, just tell me.”

“Just…I saw Jackson last week and I wasn’t sure…”

Lydia breathed out carefully as Stiles trailed off. “I’m sure Danny told you the condensed version.”

“He just said Jackson was being a dick—no surprise there—and you exploded after he said you guys should keep in touch.”

“Yes, Jackson wanting to suddenly keep in touch irritated me,” Lydia said. “But don’t think for a second that he still has that much of a hold on me. Thanks to _his_ abrupt isolation, and I’m not just talking about him traveling to London, I haven’t spoken to him for about four years. I _have_ actually moved on. Yes he we dated in high school, but that’s not enough. There have been too many years of isolation.”

Stiles frowned. “But Danny…”

“He insulted the pack!” Lydia snapped. “You’re so thick. You think I went into a tirade just because he asked for my number? I was going to be the mature one at our reunion. But Jackson has been gone for years and one of the first things he did was insult our pack. He never got over his stupid grudge with you and Scott. So yes, after hearing him rant about how incompetent Scott was as an alpha and how you’re useless, I was upset. So I lashed out. You know I don’t let anyone get away with hurting you and the pack. even if you’re not there to get to hear him.”

“Jackson has always been a douche. It’s not like any of us would be surprised.”

“Are you _defending_ him?”

“I’m saying once a douche, always a douche. I don’t think anyone would consider that a reasonable excuse for Jackson’s douchery.”

“I was hoping he would change.”

“I’m sure he’s more versed in sarcasm.”

“If he didn’t get that from you then he’s hopeless.”

“Thanks.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Still not a compliment.”

“No, I mean for defending the pack against Jackson. You act nonchalant about Jackson, but I know what he meant to you.”

“Really? How?” Lydia asked.

Stiles ignored her sneer. It was a hazard when bringing up sensitive subjects. “I’m friends with Scott, for one. And I’ve loved you since forever.”

“That’s different.”

“I admired the hell out of you for years and then loved you when we actually became friends,” Stiles amended. “There are different kinds of love, but I’m not completely incompetent with feelings. Jackson was the first guy you loved. And he left that summer. I know you weren’t ‘fine’ like you insisted. He might not have the same effect on you now, but a small part of you still cares for him. And always will care for him. So thank you for defending the pack against Jackson and finally telling him how you felt.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “You’re welcome.”

“Did you feel better?”

“After exploding at Jackson? Yeah,” she admitted tentatively. “But I did mostly explode because he was being an immature dick to the pack.”

Stiles hummed. “It was more of a killing ‘two werewolves with one wolfsbane bullet’ type of thing.”

“Can’t you just say ‘two birds with one stone’ like a normal person?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because I made you smile.”

"You’re a dork.”

“And she comes back with one of her harshest insults to date!”

“Why are we friends again?”

"Your boyfriend turned into a giant lizard and I have an amazing personality.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Let’s eat food. I’m starving.”

“I’m not going where Bush is. He might kill me.”

“That’s what you get for being a sarcastic git.”

“But Lydia…” Stiles whined.

She sighed. “Professor Bush likes me. I’ll be a human shield.”

“Alright, but don’t throw me under the bus.”

“I’ll protect you part of the time?”

“How about when I give you the signal, you swoop in all awesomelike?”

“Only if the signal is a One Direction song lyric used in casual conversation.”

“Or—”

“Nope. One Direction lyrics only. Don’t act like you don’t know tons. Remember I found your One Direction CD ages ago.”

“Fine.”

“Good boy.”

“Why did I ever worship you?”

“Because I have perfect hair, flawless skin completion, and a genius mind to match?”

“Cute.”

“I thought so.”

Grinning, Stiles and Lydia headed towards the cafeteria where Lydia may or may not have deliberately ignored Stiles in favor of talking about different science experiments with Yo-Yo. Until, in a moment of total desperation and a heavy frown from his professor, words passed through his mouth he would later refuse to have prior knowledge of.

“…and furthermore, Mr. Stilinski,” Professor Bush continued, “I fail to see—”

“Look, professor,” Stiles started. He was determinedly not looking at the strawberry blonde that somehow wormed her way into his close circle of friends. “You’re insecure; don’t know what for. But you’re turning heads when you walk through the door.”

Professor Bush blinked. “What? Walk? And I’m not _insecure_.”

“Everyone else in the room can see it.” Stiles attempted to keep his face serious despite his poor decision making skills. Professor Bush looked like he was in between punching him or taking him to a mental hospital. Where art thou, Lydia? “Everyone else but you.”

Professor Bush sputtered. “Wh-How do you…?!”

“I believe, professor,” Lydia slid in, grinning triumphantly at Stiles. “That what Stiles _meant_ was…”

Stiles smiled, his rush of gratitude overweighed his general annoyance. Bush told him many times that while he excelled at his actual work, his attitude would forever be a handicap for him. Lydia appeased Professor Bush within a matter of minutes. She had a gift. Or she was one of the lucky few allowed to be snarky in front of the professor.

She raised a cocky eyebrow at Stiles as soon as Bush turned his back.

“You’re handy,” Stiles said. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Why are we friends again?”


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was still buzzing with excitement. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t every day that a person was hired on at Google. Just the elation of it all… Needless to say, he was now humming annoyingly. Hopefully, not too annoyingly. He didn’t want to irritate his elusive roommate. The last minute packing and general rushing around the room on the last day of the internship program was probably the longest they’ve been in each other’s company.

His roommate—Stiles was 83% sure his name was Henry—zipped up his suitcase. He gave Stiles a final glance. “Yeah, uh, congrats on the Google job.”

“Thanks, man.  Sorry we never really hung out before.”

"Eh, it happens,” Henry shrugged. “I’m used to being ignored.”

Stiles felt an immediate rush of guilt. “Oh, dude, it wasn’t personal. Sorry that—”

“That we didn’t talk? It’s cool. We ran in different circles. Besides, things have gone up since high school.”

“Right? High school was a stressful time for everyone.”

“Yeah, I had one teacher who absolutely _hated_ me.”

“That sucks. I had the same problem with a chemistry teacher. The only upside was that he didn’t want to fail me and have me retake his class.” And he died and couldn't hate Stiles after the beginning of junior year, but that's not a thing someone mentions in casual conversation.

“You’re funny,” Henry chuckled.

“Who knows?” Stiles grinned. “Maybe in high school we would have hung out.”

Henry cocked his head to the side. “Sure. Well, I’m heading out. See you, Stiles.”

“Bye, Henry,” Stiles said, frowning. Stiles? Henry lugged out his suitcase and threw on a eerily familiar, old backpack. Stiles gaped. Beacon Hills Lacrosse? He squinted at the faded name. _Greenburg_? Holy shit.

The door slammed shut behind Greenburg of all people.

Greenburg spoke? Greenburg was good with computers? Greenburg was ginger? He was so lost.

A knock on the closed door instantly caught Stiles’ attention. Did Greenburg forget something? Would it be more awkward because Stiles didn’t remember him? They were the same grade and on the lacrosse team. Stiles literally had no excuse for not recognizing him. He skidded towards the door.

“I had no—Derek?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but his mouth twitched. Stiles grinned. And to think he used to be terrified of the broody werewolf.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m helping you take your stuff out to the car.” His tone implied he thought Stiles was missing key IQ points.

“I'm taking the bus.”

“Was taking the bus.”

"Was?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?”

Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles beamed. He missed this.

“Who’s all here?”

“Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Malia.”

“So everyone?”

“The pack wanted to fetch you.”

“And you were the only willing to help me move suitcases?”

Derek’s silence was more telling than anything. Stiles easily read his slight embarrassment.

“Aww, you missed me,” Stiles cooed.

Derek’s eyebrows went impossibly lower.

“Come on, let’s hug this out. Get it out of your emotionally constipated system.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not dropping my arms until we hug.”

“Should I tell Scott to rent a hotel room?”

“Don’t be such a sourwolf,” Stiles taunted. He stretched his arms invitingly. “Come on, big guy.”

"I’m not a puppy.”

"Do you want me to use baby talk?”

“I will rip your throat out—”

“With your teeth, yeah. You’re very scary, I promise. I would shiver in my boots if I wasn’t barefoot. Do you want me to threaten to trap you with mountain ash and force you to socialize with other humans?”

"You wouldn’t.”

“Listen to my heart. I would not only do it, but I’d also eat popcorn and send a whole squad of cheerleaders your direction.”

Derek’s growl made Stiles feel accomplished. “And this is why you’re ‘Sourwolf’ in my phone.”

“And this is why you’re ‘Irritating Human’ in mine.”

“An upgrade from ‘Human #1’? I’m touched. Did you have to rearrange your other 2.5 human friends?”

“How can you have 2.5 friends?”

“The same way you have 2.5 children.”

“That’s a statistical average.”

“Look at you using Google and refusing to acknowledge your social ineptness. You only have me to thank for making you slightly less serial killer-y.”

Derek’s scowl was a pathetic attempt at disproving Stiles’ statement.

“Dude, stop acting like you hate people. Hug me, dick.”

Derek rolled his eyes and took a small step towards Stiles. Amusement in Derek’s eyes belayed his scowl. He stiffly wrapped his arms around Stiles. Stiles snorted and hugged tight, knowing that Derek would relax in 3…2…there we go. Stiles missed the werewolf.

Derek was the first to let go—surprise, surprise—but had a small smile on his face that Stiles was sure he didn’t know was there. “Ready to leave, yet?”

“Almost done packing. I just got distracted by my roommate," Stiles said. "You’ll never guess who he was: _Greenburg_. As in Coach’s imaginary friend, who’s not so imaginary.”

“You should be a detective.”

“Shut it, Clifford. I didn’t see him most of the internship. He was with his girlfriend a lot," Stiles said, eyes widening. "Fucking hell, Greenburg has a _girlfriend_. He’s _dating_. And I’m single. Damn, Greenburg has more game than me. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.”

“Aren’t you used to being forever alone?”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“It’s not my fault you’re single.”

“I’d rather be single than date certifiable psychos.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Just get your stuff.”

“Dude, I was finished packing like five minutes ago. Not my fault you’re not observant.”

“You didn’t know you were rooming with a person from Beacon Hills.”

“Do you know what Greenburg even looks like?”

“I wasn’t the one that had lacrosse with him.”

“Just take my suitcase.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to say it.”

Now Derek just looked amused. Ass.

“Scott will totally disapprove of you not helping the poor, weak human with his heavy suitcase.”

The werewolf remained decidedly unimpressed.

“I don’t need you.”

“Ok.”

Stiles groaned. “You’re a useless member of society. Like, do you even have a job? Because I do. It’s called Google.”

“You’ve been waiting to say that.”

“No shit. Come on, boy. Let’s go. Follow me like a good puppy. There we go.”

Stiles grinned triumphantly when Derek growled under his breath and took Stiles’ suitcase. He swung the door open and did not leap back in surprise when he saw his Google team in his hall.

“Get lost?” Stiles managed, his attempt at nonchalance failing according to Derek’s snort.

“We thought we’d head down together,” Neha said. Her gaze flickered towards Derek. Then back at Stiles. Her eyes were shining. Stiles glance at his team. The rest of them looked on with amusement and interest.

“Sounds good,” Stiles said. “Derek drew the short straw and had to help me move out. Because I’m lazy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Billy said. “Stu hasn’t actually mentioned you.”

Derek was using his gorgeous, model grin. Because he was an asshole. And was being charming. Like an asshole. Stiles rolled his eyes when Neha and Yo-Yo swooned. Stiles forced his eyes away from Derek’s face and quickly introduced him to the rest of the team.

“Shall we go, my Nooglers?” Stiles teased.

“Noogler?” Derek asked. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him willingly speaking in a group without prompting. Derek’s more impressive eyebrows frowned back at him.

“New Googlers,” Lyle explained. “There’s a better word somewhere…maybe.”

“Yeah, intern,” Neha said.

“I like Noogler,” Billy said.

"I believe you’re one of the few,” Yo-Yo retorted.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, “not every group has to have a creative name, Billy.”

“But—”

“Nope, I’m not listening to this argument again,” Neha protested. “So Derek, what do you do for a living?”

“Brood, stalk high schoolers, wear leather.”

Derek glowered at Stiles before turning his megawatt smile on Neha. Derek’s smile was so unnatural. Except it kind of wasn’t. Derek’s full-fledged grin lit up his face and made him look disgustingly more attractive. Of course, even with Derek more light-hearted, he barely grinned like that genuinely. Nick cleared his throat. Stiles flushed, tearing his eyes away from Derek. He hadn’t seen his wolfy hide all summer and now he was Derek-level staring at him. It was Derek’s fault, Stiles knew it. He was a bad influence.

“It’ll be weird not seeing you guys every day,” Stiles said, ignoring Nick’s uncalled for amusement. Stiles totally zoned out. On Derek’s face. And body. Totally normal. Stiles also hid a pout when he realized he missed Derek’s job explanation. He hoped Derek said something about pest control. He could then say he was _a_ _super natural_ at it. Badumsha.

“I know,” Neha agreed. “We could text.”

“Or meet in person,” Nick said. “I hear that was a fad a couple years ago.”

“I don’t know,” Billy mused. “We don’t want these trendy young people to lose their reputation.”

“Stuart is a hipster,” Nick said, nodding gravely.

“I am not!” Stiles protested. “I hate you all.”

“Are hipsters those people who look like you, but you make fun of anyway?” Derek asked innocently—way too innocently.

“No one cares about your input, Cujo.”

“We could Skype,” Yo-Yo suggested.

“Nah, I’ll probably creep by most of you guys,” Stiles said. “Try that whole ‘visiting’ thing.”

“I feel like you grew as a person,” Neha teased. “But that’d be great, seriously. Maybe we could all try to meet someplace after a while?”

“Definitely,” Yo-Yo said. Stiles smirked at Billy and Nick’s proud expressions.

Derek followed Stiles’ gaze and turned his attention to the older men. “You trained them well.”

Nick and Billy laughed. Stiles made a face at Derek. Derek smirked at him before turning back to laugh with Nick and Billy. Derek was so unnerving sometimes. Who knew all it took for Derek to be social was Stiles’ pain? Oh wait, that’d be Stiles. He called that after about the first month. They continued chattering excitedly as they finally exited Google.

“This feels so final,” Neha murmured.

Stiles nudged her. “Not for long.” She smiled at him, only freezing when she saw a very familiar strawberry-blonde by Derek’s SUV. “Lydia will definitely glare but will probably not say anything to you. She’ll never apologize because she’s, well, Lydia.”

“It’s fine,” Neha said. “I need to go to the bus anyway.”

“Guys!” Yo-Yo ran over excitedly. “I just grew a pair of balls! I told Mom to wait while I was talking to Nick, Billy, and Lyle.”

“Proud of you, dude.”

“They reach my ankles.”

“Okay then…See you guys next year!” Stiles said, surprising both when he wrapped them into a hug. Billy, Nick, and Lyle jumped in a second later.

“Hopefully, sooner than that,” Lyle said.

"Definitely sooner,” Stiles agreed.

His future co-workers all parted ways, promising to text and meet up. Stiles turned to see Derek already loaded his suitcase into the SUV and the pack was waiting eagerly. Stiles took one step towards them and was immediately in the middle of a pack pile. He yelped when Scott, Isaac, and Malia rubbed their faces on him. Stupid werewolves and their unnecessary need to scent things. Not that he’d complain again because last time Isaac blandly stated they could just pee on Stiles instead. The sarcastic prat. Of course, he was less prat-y but way more sarcastic after returning to Beacon Hills their senior year after spending six months in France. Stiles and Isaac got along surprisingly well after his return. They discovered common ground when they used their sarcastic wit against a mutual enemy, mostly other pack members.

“You didn’t replace us, did you?” Malia teased.

“It was tempting, but no,” Stiles said. Malia was his first serious girlfriend. Stiles would always treasure their relationship, but he much preferred their friendship. Malia and Stiles fizzled out after five months, mostly due to different interests and Peter’s sickening influence over her. She was more independent now, but after she got over her initial betrayal and shock of discovering Peter was her father, she was desperate to have a close bond with him. A bond Peter, sadly, exploited. Malia and Stiles were most definitely friends now. But the trek to this comfortable friendship took a good year to solidify.

“It’s cool,” Scott said. “I met them earlier. They wouldn’t suspect me to kill them if they tried to steal Stiles.”

Lydia scoffed. “I’ll just scare them. Don’t overthink things, Scott.”

“Was that like the third time you ever heard that?” Stiles questioned his best friend. Scott promptly shoved him.

“Give him some credit,” Isaac defended. Scott threw him a grateful look. “It was probably the fourth.”

Stiles cackled and high-fived Isaac, much to Scott’s dismay.

"You tainted Isaac,” Scott moaned.

“Um, he’s always been this awesome,” Stiles said.

“Obviously,” Isaac agreed.

“And modest,” Lydia added.

“That was a very good point,” Stiles acknowledged.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I think we all are definitely—” Isaac started.

“Yes, you’re all awesome,” Derek interrupted. “Now get in the car.”

“Aww, Lassie, you’re so sweet and kind,” Stiles gushed. “I feel terrible for all the rumors I started about you.”

Scott snickered at Derek’s glower and opened the passenger door. Derek glanced at Scott slowly like a predator contemplating when to bite. Scott raised an eyebrow but didn’t do anything Alpha-y, so Stiles counted their ‘hide the fact werewolves are real’ ruse as a success. “Taking Stiles’ seat?”

“What?” Scott sputtered, instantly turning back into an indignant college student. “No fair! I totally called shotgun before he even got out here.”

“He _did_ just get a job from a very competitive internship and proved that he can actually utilize his intelligence,” Derek drawled. Stiles blamed his good mood for the fluttering feelings Derek’s backwards-compliment left.

“But…” Scott protested.       

Derek raised an eyebrow. Scott grumbled and went to the backseat.

“Have fun being smashed,” Stiles said—very supportively, if he did say so himself. Scott stuck out his tongue. Rude. Stiles gave Scott a wet willy before scampering to the passenger seat.

“You’re both five,” Lydia informed them.

“Five and a half last June,” Stiles said.

“Why did we miss you?” Derek grumbled.

Stiles’ face lit up. “I knew you missed me! He has a heart, people. He has a heart!”

Derek turned up the radio to block out the car’s cheers, but Stiles noticed his telltale eye crinkle and half smile. It was normal Derek ecstatic. Stiles laid back in his seat, letting the soothing sounds of his pack rush over him. He missed this.


End file.
